


I’m Sure It’s Written All Over My Face

by loveinisolation



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, kurtbastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinisolation/pseuds/loveinisolation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sebastian marvels at the vision that is Kurt wearing his dress shirt (and nothing else).</p><p>Random title has no real point, but is taken from the Norah Jones song "Sunrise" :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m Sure It’s Written All Over My Face

Sebastian still finds Kurt almost obscenely attractive no matter what; regardless of what he wears or how he styles his hair on any given day, or whether Sebastian can even identify what article of clothing certain pieces Kurt wears even qualify as.

It doesn’t matter whether Kurt is sprawled naked on their shared bed, half asleep and painfully sweet as he blinks his eyes open to look at Sebastian ( _always_  at Sebastian, and isn’t that just the best thing in the world that Sebastian never expected to want), or whether he is put together, every hair in place and clothing impeccably layered and styled to perfection. It really could not matter less to Sebastian how Kurt is dressed as long as they’re still together; as long as Sebastian is still his and he is Sebastian’s.

 

Truthfully, Sebastian loves every side of Kurt with every fiber of himself. But Sebastian would never deny that this is one of his favourite looks on Kurt: this undone, rumpled, half clothed perfection that Sebastian so rarely gets to see.

Even when he is lounging in sweatpants Kurt tends to be unusually put together; wearing pieces that fit him perfectly and that no doubt have at least one designer label piece among them.

And then of course there is Kurt completely naked: a perfect vision of long, lean muscle and taut skin.

But even that somehow cannot trump the image of Kurt dressed in Sebastian’s overlarge, basic white button down and not a stitch of clothing more.

Sebastian shivers at the thought of wearing that shirt again; the smell of Kurt still lingering in the weave of the fabric, and the image in front of him forever emblazoned in his mind.

Kurt’s long, milk pale legs are completely bared to Sebastian’s gaze, his bare toes curling into the rug at the foot of the bed, collarbones on display in the deep v of undone buttons that allows the shirt to slip to one side.

He looks somehow both debauched and innocent; body barely covered by the long shirttails, but so very young and nearly angelic in the too big shirt with the sleeves that slip over his hands when he moves and get in his way as he brushes his loose bangs out of his eyes.

Possessive warmth spreads through Sebastian as he considers that no one else has ever seen Kurt quite the way he does: that no one else will ever see him like this, wearing nothing but Sebastian’s own shirt and a contented little smile.

It strikes Sebastian every single time – every single one of the few times he has seen Kurt like this – that somehow, against all odds, Kurt is absolutely perfect for him.

That they are perfect for each other, though neither one of them is perfect.


End file.
